


Scripted

by monobuu



Series: Porn Novelist [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Attempt at snobbery, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monobuu/pseuds/monobuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred tries to be deep and Arthur is unimpressed. Then they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scripted

Arthur Kirkland sat comfortably on his couch, back pressed up against the arm rest, legs spread out before him. His laptop, an ever-present companion these days, sat where its name dictated it should and the Englishman's thighs were pleasantly warm as a result. His fingers flitted leisurely over the keyboard, sentence after sentence coming to life before him as he followed the will of the images flowing through his imagination. His creativity these days seemed to pour from an uncorked and endless bottle, held aloft by a muscular, tanned, and generally gorgeous American set in one of those poses you often found in ancient Greek statues. The ones with the ridiculously perfect anatomy and bone structure, forever captured in a physical exertion of unparalleled strength as they held that huge vessel above themselves, posed for all to admire.  
  
The comparison was actually pretty accurate, except that his American had better hair.  
  
And although he was focused on the task at hand, his most recent novel and one of his best, if he did say so himself, every once and a while he would finish a paragraph and be unable to resist the urge to glance up.  
  
Alfred sat on the other end of the couch, slumped in a relaxed sprawl and immersed in his own novel. The only differences were the fact that he was reading, not writing, and that the novel wasn't actually a novel. Yet.  
  
Arthur had held off sending this particular gem to his publisher for months, unwilling to let it go for reasons he didn't exactly want to think on for any length of time. It was the novel he'd started after first meeting his American lover, written during hot summer afternoons as he watched the sweat roll down Alfred's neck, watched the man's trousers hang precariously low and haphazardly across his hips, watched as his muscles flexed as Alfred attempted to fix Arthur's most recent attempt at sabotage. It was the novel whose characters were based entirely on Alfred and himself, whose plot reflected actual events, to an extent, and whose very completion had triggered the start of their current relationship.  
  
Arthur had never considered himself overly sentimental, but as he watched Alfred work his way through the original copy of Arthur's work, a pile of unbound printer pages, he couldn't help but feel like a mother watching her child packing his bag for his first week at summer camp. He felt within himself a curious duplicity, wanting to see his work published for his loyal fans to read and at the same time wishing to keep it for himself, something that was only his. He'd never felt like that about one of his books before.  
  
“You're kinda like Karen Eiffel,” Alfred said.  
  
Arthur blinked and refocused his attention, frowning at the American. His feet, resting comfortably in Alfred's lap, shifted as he raised an eyebrow. Alfred glanced up at him. “Y'know, and I'm Harold Crick,” he continued.  
  
“I've no idea what you're on about,” Arthur told him, tapping several keys as he went through various ideas for the start of his next paragraph.  
  
“Stranger than Fiction,” Alfred said easily, tone implying that was all the explanation needed.  
  
“Which is...?” Arthur prompted, deciding to go with _The man wasn't unwilling to take hold of his lover's cock so much as he was unsure whether fingers or mouth would be better suited at this point in their foreplay._ Arthur smirked as he pressed the space bar twice.  
  
“A _movie_ , Arthur,” Alfred said with emphasis, completely ignorant to Arthur's train of thought. “You're an author who's writing a story about me and I can hear you narrating and I do everything you write.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Arthur murmured, sounding unconvinced. It _was_ quite possible that Alfred was referencing a movie that Arthur had never even heard of. The man watched movies with approximately the same frequency that Francis smoked cigarettes. Which is to say, often enough to be considered substantially detrimental to his health.  
  
“Because this repairman is _me_ ,” Alfred continued. “And you wrote it, and I pretty much did everything you wrote. I mean, other than the fact that I'm not an auditor for the Internal Revenue Service and I don't die, it's practically the same thing. You even have a British accent.”  
  
Arthur looked up at his lover, frowning in a helplessly amused and confused sort of way.  
  
“How _cool_ is _that?_ ”  
  
Arthur sighed. “Ignoring the fact that you're comparing me to a woman,” he started, “Wouldn't that imply that you were sleeping with somebody else?” Arthur directed his gaze at his computer screen once more. “A quirky, cute _female_ baker with a comical disdain for authority?”  
  
There was a moment of silence, wherein Arthur looked up again, surprised at the lack of response, and caught Alfred staring at him with his mouth slightly ajar. Then Alfred grinned. “I thought you said you'd never seen it?”  
  
A blush began staining Arthur's cheeks and he misspelled the word 'the'. “Well, it was a long time ago,” he muttered, tapping the delete key. “I barely remember it at all.”  
  
“Okay,” Alfred said, clearly unconvinced. Arthur looked up through his fringe, watching as Alfred went back to reading, hand resting comfortably on Arthur's left foot.  
  
The Englishman kept a wary eye on his lover, sure that he would have something further to add, some cheeky comment or other about Arthur's writing or the movie or something completely unrelated. The man was almost as random as Antonio and Arthur often wondered if his brain sometimes functioned on a completely different wavelength than the rest of the world. When it seemed that the American was done speaking, however, Arthur focused his attention once more on his computer screen and his blinking cursor.  
  
He was at the build up of his current novel, a story surrounding a Halloween costume party, wherein a certain character had decided to wear a toga and another had decided that togas were meant to be removed slowly and with great deliberation, preferably in a bedroom where things could quickly and quite easily degenerate into frenzied sex. Not everyone got what they wanted, however, and in this case, a locked toilet had been the chosen substitute. One of the men was currently sitting on the closed toilet seat, trousers around his ankles as the other tried to make a decision on how to proceed.  
  
It was a problem Arthur himself was becoming increasingly familiar with. Arthur was a fan of foreplay, but more often than not Alfred would spread his legs and just _wait_ to see what Arthur would do with his erection. It was frustrating, slightly embarrassing, but oftentimes a rather unique way of giving the Englishman ideas for his writing. Not that he would ever tell Alfred that being a complete _nutter_ in the bedroom was in any way helpful or appreciated.  
  
“Well, I suppose there are a bunch of inconsistencies,” Alfred said suddenly, as if there hadn't been a good five minute pause between his last thought and the next. Arthur was jerked from his thoughts rather abruptly, but it took him another few blinks and a slight shake of his head to rid his mind of the image of Alfred's cock.  
  
“For example,” Alfred continued, holding up the stack of papers as he looked at Arthur. “In here,” he pointed at the story, “we have sex on the couch.”  
  
After a stretch of silence, Arthur cleared his throat. “And?” he prompted.  
  
“And we've never had sex on the couch,” Alfred said, setting the papers aside.  
  
Arthur scoffed. “We've had sex plenty of times on the couch.”  
  
“Nope,” Alfred argued, leaning toward Arthur as his pointer finger ran up the underside of Arthur's foot, sending a shiver through the Englishman. “I've given you blowjobs on the couch, you've jerked me off on the couch, and that one time we managed to get naked on the couch, but then we fell off and ended up having sex on the floor.”  
  
Ah, yes. Arthur remembered that night well. His back had been sore for a week.  
  
“What about that time with the chocolate biscuits?” Arthur asked.  
  
“One, they're called _cookies_ ,” Alfred said, holding up a finger. “And two, that doesn't count.”  
  
“Why not?” Arthur asked heatedly. “You humped me so far into the couch it took me ten minutes to get _out_.”  
  
“Be that as it may,” Alfred said with a superior air. “We both came in our pants, so it doesn't count.”  
  
Now that Arthur thought about it, he had a point.  
  
“Sooo~ we've never had actual sex,” Alfred continued, climbing his way steadily up Arthur's body, “on the couch.” The American placed a finger on the top of Arthur's laptop, slowly pushing the screen down until it clicked shut.  
  
“Alfred,” Arthur said, frustration evident in his tone. He'd been on a roll with that chapter, and he hated stopping in the middle of a sex scene, it ruined the speed and consistency. But despite his annoyance, he didn't stop Alfred as the man moved his laptop to the coffee table, where it sat innocently next to the pile of papers Alfred had been reading earlier.  
  
Arthur's gaze swiveled from the computer to his lover as he felt a firm finger run up the crotch of his jeans, sending a heated wave of pleasure up his spine. “You were writing a sex scene,” Alfred said, aligning their bodies more closely and sliding one of his legs between Arthur's.  
  
“I was not,” Arthur argued, purely to be contrary.  
  
“Mhmm,” Alfred hummed. “You always get hard when you write smut.”  
  
“I'm not-” Arthur began, but broke off abruptly when Alfred palmed his cock through his jeans and it became unarguably apparent that he was, indeed, hard. Very hard. His breath stuttered out of him as he worked his expression into a put upon glare.  
  
“What were you saying?” Alfred asked lightly.  
  
“Sod off,” Arthur grumbled, arching his hips into the American.  
  
Alfred met the motion with his own, pushing his hips down into Arthur's as his hands braced themselves on either side of the couch, holding him just above the Englishman. He stayed there, hovering just out of reach, and Arthur's hands came up to tug at Alfred's shoulders as his eyes slipped shut, as he felt Alfred growing hard above him.  
  
“Kiss me,” Arthur ordered, softly but firmly.  
  
“Nope,” Alfred said, and Arthur snapped his eyes open to glare at him. “If I kiss you, you're gonna lose all sense of our actual mission and dry hump me till you come in your pants, and while I do enjoy that, now is not the time.”  
  
“Then get rid of the clothes and _then_ kiss me, you twat,” Arthur growled, tugging at the hem of Alfred's shirt.  
  
The American grinned and started shedding clothes enthusiastically. Alfred's everyday clothes weren't much different from his work clothes. Mainly, they were cleaner; but he favored t-shirts and jeans most of the time, so it made getting rid of them fairly easy compared to Arthur's own tendency to wear button-ups.  
  
Alfred tossed his shirt aside as Arthur hurried to undue the last button on his own. The Englishman darted his hands to Alfred's jeans, fingers dipping beneath the hem to meet warm skin The space between hem and waist was the perfect width for Arthur's fingers, as if Alfred bought them with the distinct intention of allowing Arthur to feel him up. And if he dipped them just a little further – ah, yes. Arthur smiled and looked up at Alfred.  
  
“I love it when you don't wear pants,” Arthur murmured, using his hold on Alfred's jeans to tug himself up and place a kiss just below Alfred's navel.  
  
The American let out a pleased hum before laughing outright. “But I am wearing pants, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur smacked him on the hip and went about undoing the button and zip of Alfred's jeans, throwing him a mock glare. “You know what I mean.”  
  
Arthur uncovered Alfred slowly and with great pleasure, watching with heated cheeks as the man's hardened cock broke free of the material, red and dripping as Arthur pulled Alfred's jeans down his thighs. He abandoned the jeans altogether and ran his hands up the backs of Alfred's thighs, touching his nose delicately to the skin just above Alfred's erection, mouthing the base before moving to the right, kissing Alfred's hipbone. The American let out a long, shaky exhale and moved away, lifting his bent legs one at a time in an awkward effort to rid himself of his jeans altogether.  
  
Arthur took the moment to shed his shirt, tossing it carefully onto the coffee table even as Alfred chucked his jeans somewhere over the back of the couch. He could only work up part of a glare, however, because Alfred immediately went about helping Arthur with his own jeans and before he knew it he was lifting his arse, then his legs, to help Alfred with the task. When they were both completely naked, Alfred knelt above Arthur with his hands on his hips, pride shining through his smile.  
  
“Impressive,” Alfred said.  
  
Arthur, who was fairly engrossed in taking in the sight of his lover, didn't exactly hear him. Alfred's skin was warm and tanned from endless days outside in the summer sun and Arthur idly wondered if he'd lose some of it come winter, if his skin would be closer to Arthur's own. Not that it mattered. Alfred's muscles stood out against the soft light of the afternoon sun and Arthur's eyes traced every curve on his biceps, the sharp lines of his hips as they dipped into his torso, the hard muscle that made up powerful thighs and, of course-  
  
“I think we did that in record time,” Alfred continued, breaking Arthur from his silent worship. The Englishman glanced up. “Getting naked, I mean.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “What about that time you jumped me in the bath? Your task was already half accomplished.”  
  
“Well,” Alfred said. “You have a point, but I think that might be considered cheating.”  
  
Arthur's hands came up to grasp the back of Alfred's thighs as he reclined against the armrest, a wry smile gracing his features. “Possibly,” he conceded. “But it was still impressive the way you flung your boxers into the sink with your foot.”  
  
Alfred followed Arthur's tugs, dropping down so that they were touching, a grin bright on his face. “It was pretty awesome,” he agreed, “I couldn't even see the sink.” He hummed at the pleasant memory before closing the distance and taking Arthur's lips with his own, tongue seeking entrance almost immediately. Arthur opened beneath him, hands sliding up and over Alfred's arse, trailing up his sides to grab at the back of his shoulders.  
  
Alfred nudged Arthur's legs apart and settled in between them, flicking his tongue over the fronts of Arthur's teeth before pulling away, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Arthur arched his neck for easier access and let his eyes slide shut at the feel of Alfred's lips on that spot just beneath his ear, the one that drove him mad with sensation.  
  
Arthur arched into the touch, losing himself in the feel of Alfred's body sliding against his own. Alfred had started a slow rhythm between them, shallow thrusts that barely gave enough friction, just enough pressure to leave Arthur craving more. His hands ran over Alfred's back, fingers following the dips in his spine, hovering for a few prolonged moments over the dimples just above Alfred's waistline before swooping down and around to flick over the jut of the American's hipbones.  
  
Arthur was fairly certain his obsession with Alfred's waistline was some sort of kink. Compared to what he normally considered kinks, it was very, incredibly vanilla, but there wasn't really any other way to describe it. It had probably started with Alfred's tool belt; Arthur had always had an overly enthusiastic fixation on it, the way it pulled Alfred's jeans down, the way it tilted to one side, ruining the symmetry of Alfred's body. It hadn't stopped there, however. Arthur had been just as enthralled with the expanse of skin between shirt hem and jeans, and if the tool belt did its job properly, the slope of Alfred's hip peaking out from beneath the hem could send Arthur's mind straight into the gutter in the quickest free fall in history.  
  
Which was to say nothing of the times Alfred decided _not_ to wear boxers at all and then lounged around _stretching_ at any given moment, allowing his jeans to sink precariously low and thus giving Arthur a tantalizing view of the hair that started just above the man's sex.  
  
“Alfred,” Arthur gasped, coming out of his reverie to the sensation of Alfred's tongue in his navel.  
  
The American glanced up, smiled and climbed back up Arthur's body, taking his mouth in a heated kiss before pulling away entirely. His hand crept down Arthur's body, taking hold of Arthur's cock and giving it two firm pulls. Arthur's breath got caught in his throat and he arched up off the couch as the heat in his cock suddenly spread, sending shivers up his sides, down his arms, through his toes. Despite Arthur's argument to the contrary, writing smut _did_ get him horny, and he'd been hard long before Alfred had decided to molest him.  
  
“Al-Alfred,” Arthur stuttered, hands coming to rest on Alfred's forearms in an effort to slow his ministrations. The American stroked him again, thumbing the slit viciously before sliding back down, fingers spreading as he moved lower to take Arthur's balls in hand. Arthur closed his eyes and rode the sensations for a moment, let the thrill of being with Alfred wash over him, sing through his blood, before he let out a shaky exhale.  
  
“I hope you brought lube,” Arthur said then, tugging Alfred toward him. The American laughed, let go of Arthur's cock and tipped forward. Arthur's mouth latched on to Alfred's collarbone and Arthur sucked and licked his way to Alfred's sternum, running his tongue straight up and over Alfred's adam's apple, the underside of his chin, before sinking back into the couch cushions.  
  
Alfred lifted himself to his knees once more, grinned at Arthur and stuck his hand in between the back cushions. Arthur frowned. “What are you-?”  
  
Alfred proceeded to pull out not only a bottle of lube, but a couple condoms as well. Arthur lay there in a fair amount of shock for long moments before he scowled outright. “You put lube and condoms in my couch cushions!?”  
  
Alfred shrugged with that innocent grin he always sported when he knew Arthur was going to be upset about something. Arthur knew it well, since Alfred was usually pretty good at gauging his moods. Knowing exactly what it was, however, did little to dampen the effects and, much to Arthur's chagrin, it usually worked.  
  
“Genius, right,” Alfred asked, wiggling his eyebrows.  
  
“That's not exa-”  
  
“It's not like anybody looks there, anyway,” Alfred continued, ignoring Arthur's indignation completely as he picked a suitable packet and set it down on Arthur's stomach. Then he shoved his hand, and the rest of the condoms, back into the cushions.  
  
“Don't put them back in there!” Arthur shouted.  
  
Alfred retracted his hand, sans condoms. “Arthur, seriously. What happens the next time we want to have couch sex and we don't have any lube on hand? You really want me to have to go all the way _upstairs_ to get it?”  
  
Arthur frowned heavily. Alfred had a point. It was terribly convenient.  
  
“Fine,” Arthur grumbled in a tone that clearly expressed that, while he was letting Alfred have his way, he wasn't happy about it. Even though he agreed. It wouldn't do to let Alfred think he'd actually convinced Arthur to keep a hord of lube and condoms in his couch cushions.  
  
“Awe~some,” Alfred sang, squirting a healthy amount of lubricant onto his fingers. With his clean hand, he lifted Arthur's right leg into the air, kissing the back of his calf before focusing on the slide of his other hand. Arthur felt fingers at his entrance, circling once before Alfred' pushed in. Arthur closed his eyes and opened his mouth, head tilting back as far as it could as he focused on Alfred's finger moving within him.  
  
After a moment, Arthur made a sound, halfway between a hum and a moan, to indicate that Alfred should continue. A second finger entered him, scissoring and sliding, pushing in as far as they could reach and brushing softly against that spot inside him. Arthur's back arched off the couch and he gasped for air, spreading his legs wider, as wide as he could with the back of the couch hindering his movements. He moved his hips, an awkward attempt at thrusting himself onto Alfred's fingers as his breath rushed out of him in a haggard exhale.  
  
Alfred added a third finger, stretched him more, sent him nearly over the edge as those fingers brushed against his prostate, teased him into thinking they would give him more than they did. Arthur's head thrashed from side to side and his hands came up, one grasping at the back of the couch, the other finding Alfred's hand where it rested on Arthur's thigh. He pulled himself up slightly, taking Alfred's lips when the man turned to look at him, biting his lip before pulling back.  
  
Alfred took the hint and pulled his fingers out, grabbing the condom that still sat on Arthur's stomach and using his teeth to open it. Arthur let his hands drop to the couch beneath him, pushed himself up and watched as Alfred rolled the condom on, loving the sight of Alfred's hands on his own cock, strong fingers gliding over his sex as he slicked himself up. He turned to Arthur, mouth open as he panted.  
  
Arthur smiled, crooked his finger at his lover and lay back slowly as Alfred climbed his way up Arthur's body, took his lips in a languid kiss. Arthur could feel the head of Alfred's cock nudge against his entrance, felt Alfred's hand skim down his front before he grasped his erection and guided it forward, entering Arthur slowly.  
  
Arthur let his hand fall above his head, stretching himself back as he took Alfred in to the hilt, felt himself stretch to accommodate. It burned as it filled him and, as it did every time, took his breath away completely as his eyes closed, his chest moving in heaving attempts at life, mouth open as his fingers curled in on themselves. When Alfred was in completely, he dipped his head down to mouth at Arthur's throat, at the bob of his adam's apple as he struggled to learn how to breath again.  
  
Arthur was unsure whether Alfred was just a completely perfect fit or if it was something else entirely that seemed to send him into a state of utter incoherency by Alfred just _entering_ him, but Arthur eventually managed to regain some sort of hold on reality and wrapped shaky fingers around Alfred's arms as the American began a steady rhythm. With each slow, deliberate thrust, Alfred pushed Arthur forward on the couch and Arthur was more than willing to let the armrest help him arch into Alfred's body. The slide of skin on skin set Arthur's blood on fire, sent jolts of pleasure spiking up and down his spine, and Arthur let out a long, low moan when Alfred sped up, thrusting deeper and harder and-  
  
“Ah!” Arthur yelled, panting as Alfred hit his prostate again with more force. “Al-! Fred-! _Aah!_ ”  
  
Alfred backed off and Arthur gasped for air, opening his eyes to see that he was bent so far over the arm rest that he could see the table and chairs he used for afternoon tea.  
  
“Fuck,” Alfred groaned, fingers of one hand digging into Arthur's hip as he struggled to tilt him up and into his thrusts. “ _Arthur_.”  
  
Arthur felt Alfred slide all the way in, felt his back scrape against the fabric of the couch, felt his hips jerk at the sensation of being filled. And his mind cleared for a brief second as something occurred to him, coming to him with such clarity that his eyes widened, his mouth opened and his breath caught.  
  
“Shit,” Arthur said as Alfred pulled out again, thrust back in with more force. “I could totally suck cock from this angle.”  
  
He felt Alfred slow, heard his panting breath come closer as he leaned over Arthur. “What?” he whispered, clearly finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than pounding Arthur into the cushions.  
  
“I could suck someone off like this,” Arthur clarified, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he sighed out a moan.  
  
“You're not putting anyone's dick in your mouth,” Alfred told him, then paused. “Except mine, but, y'know, I'm busy right now.” To emphasize his point, he pulled out and pushed back in with the hard and deliberate intention of hitting Arthur's prostate and distracting him completely from the current conversation.  
  
It nearly worked.  
  
“I'm speaking logistica _lly_ ,” Arthur muttered, trailing off into a moan. He tried to catch his breath for a moment, opened his eyes when Alfred spoke again.  
  
“But wouldn't all the blood rush to your head?” the American asked, squinting at Arthur's position.  
  
“Point,” Arthur murmured, using his position against Alfred as leverage to pull himself up, hands grasped around the American's neck. When he was a breath away from Alfred's lips, he mumbled, “maybe it's a kink?”  
  
“Just to be clear,” Alfred said, blinking at Arthur earnestly. “Are we still speaking hypothetically, or do you actually like hanging upside down during sex?”  
  
Arthur kissed him, shifting as best he could back down the couch. Shoulders braced against the armrest, Arthur rolled his hips, smiled in satisfaction as Alfred broke away from the kiss with a harsh exhale and half a curse word.  
  
“Stay on task,” Arthur said, knowing full well he'd been the one to divert their attentions but unwilling to admit it. “We're having couch sex like in my book.”  
  
Alfred chuckled weakly, pressed his face against the curve of Arthur's shoulder and said, “Well, in that case, a change in positions is in order.”  
  
“What?” Arthur asked, but Alfred was already moving.  
  
The American pulled out completely and sat back, turning so that he was sitting on the couch normally, feet planted on the ground. Arthur's gaze dropped to Alfred's cock, framed by strong thighs and still very, very hard. Arthur looked up.  
  
Alfred curled his finger at him in a parody of what Arthur had done earlier and the Englishman suddenly remembered the scene Alfred was referencing. Arthur pushed himself up and crawled over to the American, swooping in for another kiss as he straddled Alfred's thighs. His hands grasped at Alfred's hips, brushed down to his thighs.  
  
“Scoot down,” Arthur murmured against his lips, smiling into the kiss as he felt his lover do as instructed, his hips sitting at the very edge of the cushions.  
  
Arthur planted his knees against the back of the couch and lifted himself slightly, hand trailing briefly across Alfred's lower abdomen before grasping his cock. Arthur stroked it a few times, watching Alfred's face go slack with pleasure, eyes closing as his mouth dropped open on a curse, then guided the head to his entrance and began lowering himself. Arthur let go, planting both hands on the back of the couch as he felt Alfred slide in to the hilt, filling him in a heated rush of sensation as the new position offered deeper penetration.  
  
“ _Hah_ hah - _nnngh_ ,” Alfred panted, hands coming up to close around Arthur's hips, guiding him up and almost entirely off his cock before letting him sink back down.  
  
Arthur let Alfred do this a few more times, allowing the American to guide him entirely, before he set his own pace, indulging in quick, short thrusts until Alfred was gasping into the skin of Arthur's throat. Arthur nearly lost his rhythm when Alfred used his leverage against the floor to thrust up into Arthur, meeting him halfway and with enough force to make Arthur's vision go white.  
  
Arthur moaned, listening as the slap of skin on skin destroyed the silence of his living room, grasped the back of the couch and leaned forward so that -  
  
“Ah, ah – Al _fred!_ ” he shouted, fingers digging into the fabric of his couch as Alfred hit that spot inside him, sending the heat pooling in his cock racing through his nerves, arching his back as he struggled to keep pace with his lover. Alfred was ruthless though, and held him firm as he thrust up into him, sending Arthur closer and closer to the edge as his tongue swept over Arthur's nipple, mouth latching on and -  
  
Arthur felt himself tumble over the edge, head tilting back as his mouth dropped open in a drawn out moan, fingers tightening in the couch behind Alfred's head. His release splashed against his chest, body jerking and moving against Alfred's as his lover continued to thrust into him, sending lingering jolts of pleasure shooting down his cock. Arthur held on as best he could, and when he was sure another moment would see him collapsing entirely against his lover, Alfred wrapped his arms around the small of Arthur's back, thrust in hard and deep, and stiffened.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Alfred moaned.  
  
Arthur felt the warmth of Alfred's release, pressed his mouth to Alfred's temple as the American's hips bucked in tiny little movements, drawing out his orgasm until he stilled, sinking into the couch with Arthur atop him. Alfred pulled out after a few silent moments, removed and tied the condom before throwing it on the floor.  
  
“You're...” Arthur murmured as Alfred tipped them both, sprawling themselves lengthwise on the couch, “picking that...up.” He had tried to sound firm and disapproving, but when all he wanted to do was fall asleep against his lover, warm and sated, he supposed it wasn't a surprise that it came out weaker than he'd meant.  
  
“Later,” Alfred murmured, arm coming up to wrap around Arthur's back. Fingers played with the dip just below his spine and Arthur buried his face in Alfred's neck to hide the pleasant noises he couldn't help but make.  
  
“Mission accomplished,” Alfred sighed, and Arthur could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
Arthur lay there quietly for long moments, enjoying the sated afterglow, the warmth of the body below him and the quite breathing of his lover. Then he shifted, yawned and smirked tiredly into the skin of Alfred's throat.  
  
“I've written twenty-six books, you know,” he murmured.  
  
Alfred hummed. “Do they all have sex scenes?”  
  
“Some of them two or three,” Arthur answered, finger tracing patterns on Alfred's shoulder.  
  
“Should be an exciting month, then.”  
  
Arthur smiled into Alfred's skin. He couldn't wait.


End file.
